The poem describes the speaker's contemplation of trees and their sounds. The speaker wonders why the noise of trees near their home bothers them so much. While the trees stay rooted in one place, their swaying and noises make it seem like they want to leave but never do. The speaker finds the trees' noises distracting and plans to leave one day when the trees are swaying noisily, to find somewhere without their constant sounds.
The Flying Slaves: An Essay On Tom Waits Author(s) : Stephan Wackwitz and Nina Sonenberg Source: The Threepenny Review, Winter, 1990, No. 40 (Winter, 1990), Pp. 30-32 Published By: Threepenny Review
The poem describes the speaker's contemplation of trees and their sounds. The speaker wonders why the noise of trees near their home bothers them so much. While the trees stay rooted in one place, their swaying and noises make it seem like they want to leave but never do. The speaker finds the trees' noises distracting and plans to leave one day when the trees are swaying noisily, to find somewhere without their constant sounds.
The poem describes the speaker's contemplation of trees and their sounds. The speaker wonders why the noise of trees near their home bothers them so much. While the trees stay rooted in one place, their swaying and noises make it seem like they want to leave but never do. The speaker finds the trees' noises distracting and plans to leave one day when the trees are swaying noisily, to find somewhere without their constant sounds.
The poem describes the speaker's contemplation of trees and their sounds. The speaker wonders why the noise of trees near their home bothers them so much. While the trees stay rooted in one place, their swaying and noises make it seem like they want to leave but never do. The speaker finds the trees' noises distracting and plans to leave one day when the trees are swaying noisily, to find somewhere without their constant sounds.
Why do we wish to bear Forever the noise of these More than another noise So close to our dwelling place? We suffer them by the day Till we lose all measure of pace, And fixity in our joys, And acquire a listening air. They are that that talks of going But never gets away; And that talks no less for knowing, As it grows wiser and older, That now it means to stay. My feet tug at the floor And my head sways to my shoulder Sometimes when I watch trees sway, From the window or the door. I shall set forth for somewhere, I shall make the reckless choice Some day when they are in voice And tossing so as to scare The white clouds over them on. I shall have less to say, But I shall be gone.
Robert Frost
[artist]
back ~ home ~ up ~ next
mhtml:file://F:\Documents and Settings\Alessandro\Desktop\The Sound of Trees by Robert Frost.... 6/11/2008
The Flying Slaves: An Essay On Tom Waits Author(s) : Stephan Wackwitz and Nina Sonenberg Source: The Threepenny Review, Winter, 1990, No. 40 (Winter, 1990), Pp. 30-32 Published By: Threepenny Review